


It's over Mr Altin

by Zwiezraczek



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/M, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mr.Altin, Mr.Altin seems to like Mrs.Babicheva, My soft russian baby, Otabek Altin is a teacher, Yuri Plisetsky is a student, Yuri seems to not like that at all..., inspired by Lungs - Harbor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 05:39:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13117191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zwiezraczek/pseuds/Zwiezraczek
Summary: Yuri likes his teacher. He would be the happiest person on Earth if his teacher loved him back.





	It's over Mr Altin

**Author's Note:**

> [Lungs - Harbor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eMcCOrmPr8M%20rel=)  
>  When you discover a song that makes you feel so good that you need to write something about it.
> 
> And a HUGE thank you to [ LittlesWords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlesWords) for all the corrections!!!

   Yuri could feel each part of his body ache as hell, the roses were raining from his soft pink lips, and him, the poor little soul was just hoping to have another day alive, just to see his sweet and beautiful face again ; pressing his lips against the phone screen, touching his lips made of pixels, feeling his warmth under his fingers while having his phone in his hand. Yuri could only imagine how it could have been. Potya was purring against his chest, as if she knew what was going on, as if she knew that sooner that she could imagine her little blond saviour will die.

   The only think he could remember so far were his eyes, coal that shined as if all the stars from the sky were hidden in them, as if his eyes were the whole and only world Yuri would be able to see. Again, petals on his tissue, again tears on his cheeks, again the feeling of being useless; how long he will be able to feign that everything was perfectly good on his side? How long this song would play in his head, how long he will be able to feel alive? Nobody knew the answer, neither did he.

   His cheeks were flushed bright red when Mr Altin was in front of him, and his rough accent that made him feel ashamed of who he was; the one he loved, with the purest agape he had, was someone he shouldn't love; star crossed lovers, destined to die, but in that case, only the angel was going to poison himself with the most beautiful poison that was able to grow on earth, flowers, roses, lilacs, hydrangeas dropping from his mouth every time he went to the batchroom. It felt like throwing up all his love, all that had grown in his chest for such a long time; once he tried to gather all the petals, to clean them, to have them near him, as a symbol of this impossible love for this beautiful man that taught him literature every day. He fell in love with his manners and with the way he said his name on the first day, he was sitting at the bottom of the room wishing for some sleep against the wall just like he was doing every year during litterature class, but this time he couldn't sleep because of this scratchy voice speaking about all these things Yuri never paid attention to. He listened, savoured every word that Mr Altin spoke, as if they were the host that the priest gave him every Sunday when he was at the church with his grandpa; never missing a shape of his voice or any hand in his perfect and gleaming hair thanks to the hospital lights of the classroom. He seemed to be his angel, his saviour coming to Earth just for him and tempting him with his carnal envelope; Yuri wanted to touch him, to touch his hand everytime he was wandered though the classroom handing out the papers they needed to follow his lesson, and once he did. With his long and pale fingers, shaking softly, he finally touched the dulcet skin of his teacher who gave him a little look, right in the eye; holly Jesus, Yuri never felt this way, Yuri never fell in love as he did for him.

   On a sweet afternoon of April he stayed to talk with him, to ask him something about Tourgéniev's First Love to ask him everything he could about this novella, to hear the sound of his voice near his ear, to look recklessly at him, drawing all the curves of his body under this sweater, seeing every eyelash on his eyelid, smelling his perfume as savage as always, being able to touch his hand again while turning the pages of the book -just to show him this passage he found interesting to read-; he found himself in front of the door, wanting to knock but his hands were not cooperating with his will. He stepped back, defeated by his fears and all his little demons growing inside of him, when, suddenly, he heard another voice in the room, soft and sweet that could only caress his and his professor's ears; he looked through the little square of the door and saw what he shouldn't have. Seeing the velvet red lips on his, a hand running across the perfect and now messy hair, pushing herself against him, and pushing him against the desk, his Russian teacher, Mrs.Babicheva, was here, kissing him and he seemed to enjoy it ; running his hands on her back, grabbing her butt, closing his shining eyes while their nose were banging together, gasping together, melting into each other as Yuri's eyes were filled with salty tears, now hurtling down his cheeks to find his mouth. Who never felt the taste of his own tears isn't human, and sadly the angel was. He ran away, as fast as his wings allowed him, flying across the city, across the lands and wishing that everything he saw was a bad dream, but the memory wouldn't go away ; it stuck to his mind and heart forever ; as if the goddess of love heard him sobbing, she put some flowers to brighten up his soul , to allow him to never feel bad for his soul but to suffer for his body. Yuri didn't want to suffer anymore, he just wanted to die.

   He started to cry, to cry every drop of water he could in hope that the flowers would not grow again; but they were still here, with their moral petals, judging his sin, judging all his life; his skin was cracking softly, his mask was destroyed by all the pain he had. And once, his lover asked him -what a blessed day!- what was happening, why he wasn't as passionate as he always was, asking questions, nodding softly when he was talking but the blond only replied “ Nothing, Mr Altin. It's really nothing” , it's just my life falling in pieces because of you, because of the way I cherish you, of the way I love you and you do not love me, I'm dying Mr Altin, and it's all your fault; petals are growing in my chest, as the lilac that Chloe had in her chest while loving Colin in Vian's novel, as the disease that is slowly killing me as the song The Fugees were singing; and me, poor little creature begging for love, could only find some peace in God's arms. Ah, Mr Altin, it's over.

 

 


End file.
